


my broken bones are mending

by slightalbus



Category: Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bad Parents, Best Friends Turned Lovers, Christmas, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Making Out, Marriage Proposal, Shipmas, Smut, Soulmates, accidental Marriage Proposal, but like...lowkey, two people who are deeply in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-07 06:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16848853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightalbus/pseuds/slightalbus
Summary: “Yarn Fredericks,” he reads, “spelt quite literally like the stuff you use for knitting,”“Oooo!” Polly chimes, “Yarn? Who’s that? He sounds cute,”“He’s alright,” Yann says, smooth as anything, “but you should see his girlfriend,”





	my broken bones are mending

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LittleRose13's shipmas! Prompt: all these Christmas cards, you'd think they'd at least spell your name right :)

Moving in with Yann is easily the best thing that Polly has ever done. It’s a chilly Tuesday night in mid-December, the lights from the Christmas tree are shining into the kitchen, and Polly is sitting on the bench while Yann cooks dinner for the two of them. It’s everything she’s ever wanted.

Her dark hair is tossed haphazardly into a knot at the back of her head and she’s wearing the blue and white oversized ugly Christmas sweater that Yann gave her last year while she rifles through the mail, the radio playing carols softly in the background.

“Here’s one from your Mums,” she says, laying the rest of the stack in her lap to open it, _“Merry Christmas, wishing you both all the happiness in the world and more on your first Christmas in your new home,_ awww!”

Yann looks over his shoulder to smile at her, his blue eyes sparkling in contrast to his own red and white knitted sweater.

“And Leah’s sent one too!” she says, pulling it out from the pile.

Yann sets down the spoon he’s using to stir the pasta sauce and crosses the kitchen to pick up a couple letters himself.

“She says that Hogwarts isn’t the same without us and she’s dying to see us on Christmas day,” Polly tells Yann, who is now leaning against the bench beside her, “She’s such a sweetheart, I miss her so much,”

“Not so sweet when we can’t get a moment alone, though,” Yann adds under his breath, but he’s grinning. Polly knows that Yann loves Leah with his entire heart, and any time they get together these days is precious.

“Not sure that will be a problem this year,” Polly says conversationally, “if her letters are anything to go by, she’s gotten rather close to a certain Zeke Farley,”

Yann’s jaw drops. “She hasn’t!”

Polly bites her lip and grins.

“Merlin’s beard,” Yann drops his head into his hands, “she’s far too young for that!”

“She’s coming up fourteen, that’s the same age we were!” Polly argues.

“You’re right,” he sighs, peeking between his fingers, “of course you’re right, but she’s my little sister!”

“And she’s got more brains than the two of us combined, so she’ll be just fine,” she teases, bopping him on the nose and then pulling his hands away to press a kiss to his lips, “no offense,”

He gives her a mock-unimpressed look then laughs and leans in to kiss her again, catching her lips with his and pressing in close.

“You know what? That’s fair,” he says when he pulls away, and crosses back to the simmering tomato sauce, putting down the letters and continuing to stir it.

Polly scoots back on the counter to bring her legs up, sitting cross legged now, and flips through a few more of the letters. There’s one from the head of the auror training league, one from Rose and even one from Albus and Scorpius. She’d be upset about the lack of card from Karl if she weren’t used to him sending everything at least one day late. She hears Yann snort from the other side of the room and looks up. He’s holding an envelope in his hand and stirring the sauce absentmindedly with the other.

“ _Yarn_ Fredericks,” he reads, “spelt quite literally like the stuff you use for knitting,”

“Oooo!” Polly chimes, “Yarn? Who’s that? He sounds cute,”

“He’s alright,” Yann says, smooth as anything, “but you should see his girlfriend,” he shoots her a teasing smirk over his shoulder and Polly barks a laugh.

 _“Ha ha,”_ she says, hopping off the bench, “who sent that one? Your great aunt Maggie?” She walks up behind him and wraps her arms around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“God,” he breathes, turning around and giving her a smile, the one that’s just for her, all soft and crinkly at once, “I love that you know that,”

He puts down the letter and spoon and leans down to kiss her again, hands coming to rest on her back to lift her up into it. She wraps her arms around his neck and tugs him in even closer, opening her mouth and kissing him slow and deep.

She laughs, making a show of pulling back from a reluctant Yann after almost too long. “That will have to do I think, don’t want a repeat of last time,”

Last time being when they’d become too enraptured by each other and ending up fucking fast and desperately on the kitchen floor, not even caring how hard and uncomfortable it was, which had come to an abrupt finish when the stove burst into flame.

Yann groans, but he’s smiling as he presses a soft kiss to her forehead and turns back.

“Shall I set the spaghetti going?” Polly asks, but she’s already getting the pot out.

“Yes please, love you,”

“Love you too!” she sings, heart as full and happy as it’s ever been.

She’s dancing around the kitchen, sliding along the floor in her green bed socks, while the water boils, taking Yann’s hand and pulling him around too. Yann flicks his wand and turns the radio up, a smooth and slow muggle Christmas song playing, before tugging Polly into a slow dance and lovingly, but jokingly, waltzing her around the room, reminiscent of all their past Christmases together. It’s something of a tradition now, dancing together to Christmas carols. His warm hands are on her waist and her head is pressed over his heart, listening to its steady beat. _Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump_. She closes her eyes and breathes in the smell of the pasta and the feeling of complete and utter content.

As the song comes to a close, Yann goes back to check on the sauce and pasta and serves up two plates while Polly grates the cheese with a concentrated swish of her wand.

“Well done,” Yann says, pressing a kiss to her shoulder as he hands her a plate.

“Thanks, babe,” she smiles.

They eat dinner quietly by the fire, sitting on the couch together, and discuss their plans for Christmas. As per tradition, they’ll be spending Christmas eve and day with Yann’s family, something they’ve been doing since their third year of Hogwarts. Polly will bring a dessert to share and Yann will have the presents organized. It’s a stark and happy change from the cold and lonely Christmases was used to Polly as a child.

Boxing day will then hopefully be spent getting smashed with their friends at Chase and Hannah’s.

Two hot chocolates and eight marshmallows later and Yann’s setting up a film while Polly sets about displaying the Christmas letter’s they’ve received so far. She’s just putting the one from Matt Wood on the mantlepiece when an unopened letter slips from the pile. She’s bending down to pick it up when she catches sight of the handwriting and freezes.

“Babe?” Yann questions. Polly turns to look at him and she must look a state because he’s beside her in a second.

“It’s from my parents,” she whispers.

“Do you want to just chuck it out?” Yann suggests, but with shaking hands, she opens it and pulls it out. Ripping off the band aid as it were.

_Polly,_

_Merry Christmas. Hoping the New Year brings better choices._

_We’ll be waiting._

_Mother and Father._

“What the fuck,”

She can hear her mother saying it, is the thing. Her deep, cold voice saying _make better choices_ and she knows, _knows,_ that it’s a dig at her relationship with Yann. From the moment she arrived home in first year, bursting with tales of her hilarious and kind and brave best friend, her parents had disapproved. They’d never said as much out loud, god forbid they ever actually say what they’re thinking, but they hadn’t needed to. Even as an eleven-year-old Polly could read the dip in their brows, the twitching of their lips and the clenched jaws. The not-so-subtle coughs that cut her off had successfully prevented any and all talk of Yann Fredericks for the holidays but had done nothing to deter her friendship with him. On the contrary, as the years went on she realised very quickly that she’d choose Yann over her parents any day, something which was only strengthened when she met his family and was welcomed so whole-heartedly. She’d never known parents to hug their children before. Without a doubt, befriending Yann is the best choice she’s ever made.

Fuck her parents.

Very slowly Polly brings her wand to the card and sets it alight, burning it to nothing. She directs the ashes into the fireplace and then stands to compose herself. She takes a deep breath and turns back to continue putting up the rest of the cards.

“Polly,” Yann says, his voice devastated. She turns to him and is pulled immediately into his arms. She wraps her arms around his back and places her head over his heart again. _Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump_ , harder and faster this time. The feeling of him breathing against her, his nose pressed into her hair and arms tight around her would be suffocating if it were anyone else. But Yann isn’t anyone else, he’s her best friend and soulmate, he’s home.

“I love you,” she whispers, closing her eyes and listening to the jump in his heart at the words, “I’m sorry, I love you,”

“Don’t apologize for them,” he says, “I love you too,”

She hates that she feels a sick sort of justice at the words. That after all these years, there’s still a part of her that wants to stick it to her parents, to rub their noses in it. How she’s succeeded and found someone who loves her and who she loves in return despite everything they ever told her.

 _Do you really see a future with him?_ Her mother had taunted when she broke the news that she was moving out. _Do you actually believe he loves you? Don’t be so naïve, Polly._

 _Don’t be so naïve._ She hated that. She hated that her own mother thought the very idea of Polly finding love so unbelievable. More than that, she hated that she agreed with her.

“Pol,” Yann whispers, pulling her back to meet her eyes, “don’t listen to them, don’t give them the satisfaction of getting to you,”

“I won’t, I’m not,” she says, bringing a hand up to touch his cheek, “you know that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, I love you,”

“I love you too,” he answers immediately, “you’re the whole world to me,”

“Gross,” she mutters and leans in to kiss him.

They sit back on the couch, spreading out a tartan blanket to share.

“Anyway, we’ve had worse letters,” Yann says, dismissive in everything but intent, “I mean, all these Christmas cards, you’d at least think my own aunt would spell my name right,”

Polly laughs but it’s weak.

“Polly, stop thinking about it,” Yann sees through it, he always does.

She can’t bring herself to look at him, knowing that one look in her eyes will tell him everything, so she looks into her lap where she picks at her nails anxiously.

“Do you really think you’ll want to be with me forever?”

There, she’s said it now. Laid her biggest insecurity out on the table.

“As if you’re even asking me that,” he tries to dismiss.

“Yann,” she interrupts, “I’m being serious,”

“So am I,” he says. He brings a finger to her chin and tilts her face up to look into her eyes. “I’ve loved you from the moment I met you, and every day since,”

She squirms, her stomach flipping in a way that she’s not sure is good or bad.

“But just say that something happens,”

“Are you having doubts?”

She actually laughs at that, even though the devastated look of confusion on his face is anything but funny. Leaning into the couch, she brings her arms up to hold his face tenderly in her hands. His eyes are so wide, so honest and open to her, there’s no sign of the wall that she knows are often behind her own.

“Yann,” she whispers, “there’s not a single thing in this world that could make me doubt how I feel about you, you’re _it_ for me, you’ve got to know that,”

“Marry me,” he says, blurts.

“What?” she breathes.

Yann’s eyes have never looked so blue, or so earnest.

“Marry me,”

“Please don’t say shit just to spite my parents,” Polly says, tearing her eyes away from his unwavering gaze, “that’s the last thing I want,”

“I don’t give a fuck about your parents,” Yann says, taking hold of her hand, “I care about you, I’ve wanted to marry you since we were thirteen years old. I was going to propose on New Year’s Eve,”

Polly’s vision goes blurry as, to her horror, her eyes start to fill with tears.

“Oh,” she manages and wipes at her eyes furiously.

Yann’s biting his lip as he looks at her, fiddling with the corner of the blanket.

“I’ve had the ring for a year now,” he whispers.

 _“Oh,”_ she says again, the tears coming faster now.

“But it’s fine if you’d rather wait, or if you don’t want to at all-“

“Yes,” she interrupts, “yes, I’ll marry you, of course I’ll marry you,”

“Oh,” Yann says this time, looking dumbstruck.

There’s a moment where they just sit in silence looking at each other, the world seeming to stop while they think over their next move.

“I don’t have the ring on me,” Yann whispers, dismayed.

Polly looks at him. His short, messy curls, his flushed cheeks, the small hummingbird tattoo peeking out from under his collar. She’s never loved him more.

“Fuck the ring,” Polly says.

Yann whines.

“I don’t think you understand what I mean when I say I wanted to marry you from age thirteen, I mean I’ve had a ring chosen for near on seven years now and this whole thing planned down to the minute and-“

“Fuck. The. Ring.” Polly breathes, crawling into his lap.

Yann gazes up at her, looks at her like she’s the universe, his eyes blown wide and a dopey smile crossing his face.

“Fuck the ring,” he agrees, hands coming to rest on her hips as he surges up to catch her in a searing kiss.

It’s like their first time all over again, desperation bubbling dangerously just below the surface as they tug off their clothes, hands touching, gripping, dragging everywhere, lips moving fast against each other. It’s all a blur as she lowers herself onto him, gently, and then not so gently, riding him into the couch, every part of her body alight with ecstasy.

“Yann,” she pants, one hand in his hair and the other on his neck, _“oh,”_

“Oh fuck, fuck, _fuck,”_ he chants, over and over, hands on her waist, thrusting up to meet her and occasionally brushing the hair from her eyes, “I love you so fucking much,”

It’s astounding how well they fit together, how perfectly they slot into place with one another, or, it would be if it wasn’t abundantly clear to Polly that she’d been made just for Yann, and him her. And as she arches into him, pleasure coursing through her veins and Yann shuddering beneath her, it makes more sense than anything else in the world.

Panting as they regain their breath, hearts pressed together, Polly leans down to place a kiss over the tattoo on Yann’s shoulder. The hummingbird, no bigger than a galleon, flutters its wings beneath her lips and she smiles at her patronus, forever emblazoned on his body.

She pulls off him to lie on the couch, forgoing replacing her clothes, the heat of the fire keeping her warm.

“Wait here,” Yann says, tugging up his pants and dashing off down the hall.

Polly runs a hand over her face and laughs to herself. Happy doesn’t even begin to cover it.

She hears the padding of his feet as he comes back and looks up to see him holding a little black box. Her heart pounds as she sits up, wearing nothing but a cheap and lacey bralette and pulling her discarded sweater into her lap.

“I had this whole big speech planned out,” Yann says, grinning at her as he drops to one knee on the floor beside the sofa, “full of that soppy shit you pretend to hate,”

Polly brushes the hair from her face and tries to subdue to smile threatening to cut her face in two.

“It went something like, there’s no one in the world I’d rather call my best friend-”

“Better not let Karl hear you say that!”

“-or my soulmate,” he continues, smiling so wide his eyes have gone all crinkled, “and if you’ll let me, I’d love to add _wife_ to that list,” he pulls the box open to reveal a stunning, yet simple, diamond ring. The silver band is adorned with a princess cut diamond and Polly has to cover her mouth to hold in her gasp. It’s perfect. “Will you marry me?”

She’s already said yes, but she’s more than happy to say it again as she throws her arms around him and pulls him close.

He slides the ring on her finger and it feels right in a way that so much in her life doesn’t. She’s crying again, but she’s never been so happy. The ring sits on her finger perfectly, just as perfectly as Yann fits in her life, like it was always meant to.

“I love you,” she whispers, pressing her lips to his, “so much,”

“I love you too,” he answers, voice full of sincerity, “I can’t believe you said yes, I love you so much,”

Polly laughs and takes his face in her hands again. She can’t help it, she loves him so much she’s threatening to burst with it.

“You could have asked me in Paris or while we were cooking dinner and the answer would have been the same,” she tells him, “I just want you, all of you, forever,”

There’s tears in Yann’s eyes as he laughs. “Gross, that’s so soppy,”

“And if you tell anyone I’ll deny it,” Polly says, leaning in to kiss him again.

If anyone had told Polly, at age eleven, that the dorky little boy staring at her from across the compartment would end up being her best friend, the love of her life, that she’d happily give up everything to be with him, and that he’d propose to her in the middle of December while they’re both lounging in sweaters and track pants, she’d probably have called them insane and stalked off. But nothing has ever felt so natural in her life.

“What are we going to do for New Year’s now?” Yann wonders, “Since I’ve gone and blown _that_ plan,”

Polly urges him back up onto the couch with her and straddles his waist, taking every inch of him in, her _fiancé._

“I’ve got a few ideas,”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you made it this far ilysm!! These two...my god, their love just pours out of them!
> 
> If you could spare 2 seconds to leave kudos or a comment, that would mean the absolute world to me! Thanks again, let me know your thoughts! <3


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